I love having a dog. I really do. But there are just some mornings when dog owners across the world may wake up and regret that they can claim that title. It has to be a wider phenomena than just my house. Like the mornings when your dog, inexplicably, thinks that it's time to get up at 3am. And 4am. And 5am. Or the nights when your pretty sure the dog has a hair stuck in his throat because he keeps gagging, but then again, he may be deathly ill, so no sleep is had. Or the morning after said dog was left home longer than he likes due to work schedule changes and you discover that he has revenge pissed all over the house. And you step in it. Over and over and over. It was one of those mornings today. I found myself immediately thinking of how much cleaner my house would be without a dog. How much more time I might have, and maybe even a little money. My furniture would be footprint free. My arms and legs would be scratch free. The only teeth marks on the things inside the house would be from my daughter's toddler years. And then I start to feel guilty.


Without doggle, Emily would be without a furry companion to keep her company when she wants solace but to not be completely alone. I wouldn't get out of the house and walk around the neighborhood as much. There would be no holy terror ripping around the house when he gets excited, making us laugh. There would be no one to lick away fallen tears or cuddle up to warm our laps. No one excited enough to pee when we came home, and no one with eyes quite that sad reminding us to come home again when we leave. And when Emily goes to her dad's, I would be oh so lonely.